To Kill A Mockingjay
by Dr. 42
Summary: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 125th annual Hunger Games and the fifth Quarter Quell. May the odds be ever in your favor!
1. Prologue

Prologue.

_"You shoot me, I take him down and we both die," Cato said, a malicious sneer on his face._

_ Katniss felt a pang of sorrow, seeing through the hateful veneer and into the sad little child underneath. A boy who, no matter how hard he tried, would never win the Games. A boy who had been ruined by the Capitol and its evil._

_ But her pain disippated when she saw the boy in Cato's chokehold._

_ Peeta Mellark. The boy with the bread. As she stared into his eyes, desperately trying to come up with a solution before the wolf mutts managed to scale the side of the Cornucopia, she caught sight of his finger._

_ It was tracing an 'X' onto the back of Cato's hand._

_ Her bow was already taut and ready to fire. A shot that should have only taken a second felt like it took an eternity. She took careful aim at the back of his hand as tears clouded her vision._

_ She held her breath and let go of the bowstring._

_ The bolt of silver flashed, arcing through the air at a deadly speed. Only it was flying an inch too far to the right._

_ Katniss choked on a scream as she watched the arrowhead slice the side of Peeta's neck and proceed deep into Cato's throat. Both boys' eyes opened wide in pain and terror as their blood spewed from their respective wounds, mixing together and wetting the metal of the Cornucopia._

_ Cato coughed, spewing blood nearly far enough to spatter Katniss. He fell back, his arm still clasped tightly around Peeta, whose face was already ghostly pale from blood loss._

_ Katniss couldn't move. She wanted to run to the rim of the giant horn, but what good would it do? Would she simply reach out and pull Peeta back up, safe and sound?_

_ She collapsed. The metal was slick with blood and she slid straight over the side. She felt like a ragdoll, having no control over any part of her body. The only thing she had to remind herself that she was real was the scream that was trapped in her throat and the tears that were coursing down her cheeks._

_ Her legs hit the ground first, and she felt the bone in her left leg snap under her weight. There wasn't any pain, just numbness. She closed her eyes, waiting for the wolf mutts to close in and tear her to pieces._

_ Two cannon shots boomed across the field, drowning out the last of the mutt's whines._

_ There would be no death for Katniss Everdeen. She wouldn't be that lucky._

_ Claudius Templesmith's voice came on over the arena intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen! We present to you the winner of the 74th annual Hunger Games- Katniss Everdeen!"_

They must have made some mistake_, she thought as her vision started to fade to black. _I just lost_. /_

Brutus Snow flashed a winning smile to the mirror, his flawlessly lined teeth glinting brightly. The woman who was his stylist was busy putting the finishing touches on his dark auburn hair, setting it perfectly into place.

He noticed the slight tremor in her hands as she worked, no doubt from the memory of his warning to her before she began. _"If you allow so much as one curl to stray, I will personally kill you."_

She had so far done an immaculate job, covering his few slight wrinkles and keeping his hairline looking thick and healthy. Brutus figured he'd kill her anyway for running the comb through too roughly. It'd been a while since his last execution.

When the stylist had finished, she set down her tools and bowed slightly, avoiding eye contact.

Brutus stared at her for a few seconds before finally saying, "You may go. Thank you for your contributions to this year's Games. You have done well."

The stylist exited briskly, letting out a shaky breath and a small choking sound.

"Merciful Brutus. They're going to think you've gone soft," he said to himself in the mirror, gingerly straightening his tie.

"President Snow, sir? We're ready for you now and we'd like to begin in five minutes," came the voice of a sound technician behind him.

Brutus stood briskly, brushing off his jacket as he turned and followed the sound technician towards his balcony where he would address the citizens of Panem.

Stepping past the curtain separating his evening room from the balcony, he was temporarily blinded by the lights shining across the Capitol square. He hated the bright lights because no matter how hard he prepared himself for them, he always ended up blinded. Weak, vulnerable, if only for a few seconds. The noise he had gotten used to. The deafening boom of thousands upon thousands of Capitol citizens had ceased to shake him up.

He stared to the monitors forming a ring around the square. His image flashed on every single one of them, his enlarged visage staring down at every citizen in attendance. Bringing his hand up, he straightened the mockingjay pin attached to his lapel. Stepping up onto his podium near the edge of the balcony, he brought the three fingers of his right hand to his lips, and then held them straight up, saluting the citizens in the square.

The volume of the riot down below only intensified as they mirrored his salute, hands shooting up all around the square.

He chuckled inwardly at the sight of all of these fools blindly following orders. It amused him to think that it had only been fifty years since the symbol of the mockingjay and the three-fingered salute had been symbols of rebellion, of hope to those who opposed the Capitol. Fifty years since his great-grandfather Coriolanus Snow had made these two symbols mainstays of Capitol and Hunger Games culture. Fifty years since the rebels thought they had a chance of opposing the Capitol by pinning their hopes on a young girl.

Brutus lowered his hand, and the tumult began to calm. He heard the slight whine that meant his mic had been turned on.

"Citizens of Panem, I hope you are all as excited as I am in bringing in the 125th annual Hunger Games!" he boomed across the square.

The applause was deafening.

"There is extra cause for celebration, as this year we are slated for yet another Quarter Quell."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of his assistants approach carrying a small wooden box.

"Every twenty-five years, we hold an extra special games to keep fresh the memory of the horrors the Capitol citizens suffered at the hand of rebels during the Dark Days."

The jeers of the crowd had all but ceased at this point, their excitement somewhat stunted by the mention of such heavy matters.

Brutus turned toward the twenty-six plainly dressed children seated to his right. "I'm sure all of us have been slightly confused by the way the Games are being run this year. Traditionally, the Quell is announced weeks before the district's respective Reapings. This year however, the Reapings were held before any information was released. The reason for this is simple: this years Quarter Quell has nothing to do with our courageous tributes, but rather with the Games themselves."

There were murmurs of confusion from the square. The Capitol citizens were unsure of what this meant for their precious Games.

Brutus's assistant bowed next to the podium, holding out the box.

Brutus took it without a word, unlatching the box and running his finger over the tops of the numerous cards that filled it. " The first Quarter Quell: ' On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it.'"

He had memorized the first four Quells, as was his duty. He wanted to get straight to the fifth card, but he knew that these idiots revered tradition above all else. And so, he continued to read the memoirs of the past.

"The second Quarter Quell: 'On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, twice as many tributes were chosen from each district.'

"The third Quarter Quell: 'On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the tributes were Reaped from an existing pool of victors.'

"The fourth Quarter Quell: 'On the hundreth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that without the Capitol, they cannot be whole, each tribute Reaped was given a disability to cope with in the arena.'"

He almost couldn't stop the smile from breaking on his lips. The fourth Quarter Quell had been by far the best, the most exciting to watch. Each tribute had been randomly maimed in some fashion before being whisked off to the arena. He had initally been skeptical, as he assumed the tributes would simply die twice as fast and from natural causes. But the games had gone on that year for four weeks, with the winner being a young man from District 4 who had had his left eye removed.

Snapping out of his reverie, he reached into the box for the fifth card in the series.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the fifth Quarter Quell: 'On the hundred and twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that without the protection and provision of the Capitol they would be helpless, this year's tributes will receive no aid at any point in the competition.'"

Brutus raised an eyebrow. He hadn't known what the card had written on it. Only the Head Gamemaker had read it, as per instructions included within the box.

The crowd was silent as well, obviously unsure of what kind of surprise this was supposed to be.

Brutus's assistant timidly approached the podium, setting a sheet of paper in front of the President.

Taking the paper, Brutus looked over what was written, no doubt from the Head Gamemaker. He poured over the document, taking in the information.

After a moment of reading, he looked up to the anxious crowd. "Citizens, I have here a memo from our very own Head Gamemaker, Gaius Crane. To clear up any confusion you may have over this year's Quell, I will now divulge to you a few details about what is to come. Keeping with the theme of the Quell, this year's arena has been untouched by the Game's crew except for the essentials, which, of course, includes the launch platforms, the arena boundaries, and the cameras."

A murmur ran through the crowd in response to the announcement.

"In twenty-four hours, our tributes will be deployed into the arena. They will be given housing in the Training building, but there will be no training area open to them, they will not have private sessions, there will be no stylists or chariot rides, nor will there be mentors, escorts, or sponsors."

The crowd gasped.

"The tributes will have only themselves to rely on from start to finish."

He paused to drink in the information himself. Staring back up towards

the crowd, he let loose his largest smile. Gesturing towards the row of tributes to his side, he said, "May the odds be ever in your favor."

Whether or not this year's Quell card had ruined the Games for the Capitol idiots, they still relished hearing the traditional words that began the pageant of the games. An explosion of applause and screaming came from below the balcony. The cameras had centered on the tributes, superimposing them on the screens. They all had the look of fright so common among all tributes, but now there was an element of confusion.

The cameras spun back to Brutus's face, zooming in on his smile and his three-fingered salute.

Looking at the screen, Brutus noticed that just under his left eye, on the ridge of his cheekbone, a blemish on his skin stood out under the bright lights.

The smile fell from his face instantly and he spun on his heel and charged through the curtain. As he walked down the hall, two Peacekeepers marched into formation behind him.

"My stylist. Where is she?"

The Peacekeeper following closest to him spoke. "She left for her home as soon as she was finished here, sir."

Brutus tore his tie from his neck, unbuttoning his suitcoat. "Go to her house, bar the doors... and burn it to the ground."


	2. The Unfortunate Soul

**The Unfortunate Soul.**

Danielle was crying before she had even made it to the lanch tube. The Peacekeepers behind her were holding a steady pace towards the launch room and she had no choice but to keep moving forward.

It just didn't seem fair. Not the Games; of course the whole idea of the Games didn't seem fair. But the fact that the other twelve Districts had had 125 years to become familiar with this elegant travesty.

District Thirteen had barely thirty years worth of Games under its belt. Thirty years since the Capitol had managed to take the District from its people, since they had managed to confiscate all of their weapons of destruction and make them slaves once again.

They had been required to rebuild their own city, and also to supply their two tributes each year for the Games. This year, Danielle had been unfortunate enough to have her name drawn. She and Bastion, the boy from the graphite mines.

Danielle comforted herself with the knowledge that, even though the other Districts had seen more Games than her own, this year they were all on equal ground. None of the others had victorious mentors, or sponsors.

They would all be given an equal chance to die.

When she had reached the end of the corridor that led to the launch pad, she stood in front of the tube that would lead her to her death. The room felt like a tomb. She half wished that the entire structure would collapse, leaving her underground, her life mercifully extinguished. But she knew it was a luxury she would not be granted.

One of the Peacekeepers behind her gave her a slight shove with the butt of his gun as a feminine voice emanated from a speaker hidden somewhere.

"Twenty seconds to launch," the voice said robotically.

She was frozen with fear. Once again, the Peacekeeper nudged her, harder this time.

"Get in the tube," he said in an even tone.

Danielle obeyed, taking the final three steps into the tube. Her legs felt like jelly as she stood on the platform, terrified as to what awaited her. Maybe they were going to let them up on the bottom of the ocean, and the best swimmer would win? The hints given by the President hadn't really explained much to the tributes.

"Ten seconds to launch," came the voice again.

Breathing more frantically now, Danielle reached out and touched the glass as the tube sealed around her. She could barely stand the anxiety. It was then that she realized that mixed in with the anxiety was... excitement, of all things. What if... she could win? Maybe she could bring honor to her District. The very first victor from District Thirteen. She suddenly regretted not bringing something dangerous with her. They hadn't screened any of them for weapons. They hadn't even taken their tokens for inspection.

The platform started its ascent with a jolt. Nearly hyperventilating in the small space, she looked lamely at her own token, a small feather carved from the stone from the mines. Her heart sank as she realized that she was defenseless unless she could get a deadly weapon that was simple to use.

Seconds remained before she would have to face not only the arena, but the other tributes. In those few seconds, she faced her own fears. _Danielle, _she said, steeling herself. _As soon as that gong rings, you're going to turn heel and run as fast as you can. Find somewhere to hide, and maybe you can figure something out while the others are killing each other._

Feeling better now that she had a game plan, she took a deep breath, and closed her eyes as the light entered the top of the tube and shone straight into her face. It wasn't blinding her; it must have been late afternoon, close to evening.

As she opened her eyes, her jaw dropped. Her pod had come up in what seemed to be a city. Or rather, the ruins of a city.

As far as she could see, sky-scraping buildings- even bigger than those in the Capitol- dotted the skyline. There were more buildings than she could count, and all of them seemed too big to be possible.

The starting pods for the tributes had formed a wide ring around a giant stone circle with smaller circles ringing the inside. Judging from the small pipes that jutted out in concentric patterns inside, Danielle deemed it to be a very large, long unused fountain. They had had several like them in the Capitol, the water jets timed so that hourly, an aquatic show would spring up.

To her right, she could see a large building. It had only three openings, each roughly the size of a wide door, and the rest of the arch-filled front of the building was covered in a sheet of the same material the Cornucopia was made from every year.

Perhaps they had amended some part of the Quell card and had filled the building with supplies! Danielle wrung her hands, suddenly excited at the prospect of getting a weapon, or food, or anything she could use.

She finally took a moment to gaze at the other pods positioned around the fountain. She saw Bastion, six pods to her right, near the front of the Cornucopia building. It seemed unfair though, that he was so close and the tributes on the other side of the fountain would have to move a lot faster to have any chance of getting supplies.

Her gaze turned to her left, to those unlucky tributes who were so much farther away. Looking at her opponents, she locked eyes with a boy four pods away. He had a wide smirk on his face, his eyes drilling holes into her. She had the feeling he had been staring for a while. For thirty seconds he had watched, and it unnerved her.

He was rolling something around in his hand, not breaking eye contact with her. Only twenty five more seconds and she'd be on her way to safety. It was then that she realized who the boy was.

It was the monster from District Two. She had remembered watching the Reaping for that District. He had volunteered, of course, along with another boy. When he saw that he was being opposed, he had promptly smashed in the head of the other boy against the Reaping stage. His gruesome murder had gone overlooked as the citizens of Two celebrated another possible winner.

And then she noticed what was in his hand. It was a small metal ball. His token.

Fifteen seconds until the gong. The boy from Two raised the hand with the ball over his head, never breaking eye contact.

Danielle suddenly felt panicked. She stared at the area around her pod, knowing what lay buried around it.

She looked back up at him and yelled, "No, please!"

He let out a wicked chuckle, heaving the ball as hard as he could. It sailed through the air, over the three tributes between them, and just short of the metal disc she had been standing on.

_Had _been standing on. The explosion from the landmine had ripped off both of her legs, sending her charred torso flying into the air and a spatter of hot blood and bits of flesh all along the concrete.

The gong sounded. The Games had begun.


	3. The Waning Gemini

_A/N: I promise there's a plot, and that this is going somewhere. Since there won't really be a bloodbath, the first few chapters/tributes will serve to help acquaint the reader with the arena, the post-failed-rebellion situation, and the tributes themselves. Thanks for reading! /_

**The Waning Gemini**

The sound of the cannon booming rang out against the sky a split second after the gong.

Torvald was slightly disoriented from a combination of the gong, the cannon, and the gory spectacle that had been the District Thirteen girl. Everyone was silent. Looking frantically around the circle, he nearly laughed at the sight of the other tributes doing the same.

His eyes moved from one stunned face to the next until he came upon the one face that looked exactly like his. His twin sister, Delilah.

She was only two pods away from the exploding pod and had been liberally sprayed with steaming remains. Her face was contorted with fright and disgust, small red droplets dotting her face.

Torvald's heart broke, thinking about the Reaping in District Seven held only a few days before. The Capitol woman calling names had decided to draw from the pool of boys first. When she had called out his name, he could barely keep up his strong front. His mother had collapsed, weeping, while his father knelt by her, comforting her and holding his tiny brother close to him.

Delilah could only stare blankly ahead, looking sad and also confused as to why this misfortune had fallen on their small family.

Up on stage, Torvald had to hold his hands behind his back to keep them from shaking. He didn't want to seem weak for the cameras or his District. His broad shoulders and muscled upper body made him appear quite large, and the long shaggy brown hair gave him a rather savage appearance. This was his chance to intimdate anybody who would be watching this presentation. He couldn't let his emotions get the better of him.

But he had lost all control when the Capitol woman had reached into the glass ball holding the female names.

She read Delilah's name and Torvald's legs gave way underneath him. They had chosen him to fight to the death. Now they were pitting him against his sister.

Delilah was going to win this Quell, and Torvald would die. Even if he had to kill himself for it to happen. Which was why his goal was to make it to the Cornucopia building before anybody else could.

As the other tributes were starting to stir, he hopped off his platform and started running toward the Cornucopia building.

"Torvald stop it! You promised!"

He stumbled over his feet, but he didn't stop. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Delilah weeping, screaming at him.

"You promised me, damnit!"

The promise. The night before they were to be shuttled off to the arena, they had sat in their room for hours, talking and reminiscing about adventures they had had as children. That night, they had realized all they had were their memories. And no time left to make more.

As the sun had come up, Delilah look up at him, her face stained with tears. "Torvald, you have to promise me something."

"What?"

"There might be a Cornucopia. Or something full of weapons and supplies. You have to promise me you won't go for it. We need to run away together, away from the fighting."

"If there are weapons, we need to go for them because-," he started.

"Torvald! I want you to promise me, right now! Promise you won't run into the fray."

He had sighed, averting his gaze from the pained look on her face.

"I promise."

Now, as he ran toward the Cornucopia, he screamed over his shoulder towards her. "Run! I'll meet up with you soon!"

He was the first to make it through the archway into the building. Once inside, he stared around wildly. The room was dark except for a collapsed section of the roof that allowed a stream of sunlight to enter. As his eyes adjusted, he felt a lump drop into the bottom of his stomach. The room was empty except for the remnants of old furnishings.

It was a trick, a trap that he had walked straight into. The Capitol had promised absolutely no aid, and they had kept their end of the bargain.

As he contemplated his next move, a fist collided with the base of his head. He was thrown forward into an antique end table, the table shattering underneath him. The base of his neck was exploding with pain, but it hadn't seemed to have done any permanent damage. He propped himself up on his elbow, struggling to get to his feet.

"Still moving? That's a shame. That punch should have severed your spinal cord, killing you instantly," came the rough voice of whoever had punched him.

Torvald felt himself being lifted by the shoulders, and then roughly thrown against the wall.

He let out an _oomph_, holding onto a tapestry on the wall to keep himself up. Turning towards his attacker, he saw the boy from District Two grinning at him in the semi-darkness. In the doorway, he could dimly make out the figure of anothe tribute who had just entered.

A mocking look of surprise spread on Two's face. "Oh, excuse me. I thought you were the girl twin."

Torvald was suddenly filled with rage, his body fueled by a hatred towards this horrible being. He took a wide swing, his knuckles meeting Two's face. The strike did very little damage, only serving to slightly disorient him. Torvald dove towards him, hoping to get him onto the ground.

But Two was far superior in strength. He grabbed Torvald by the neck as he jumped toward him, throwing him to the ground and pinning him with his weight. Torvald let out a savage scream as Two pummeled him with his fists.

Blood filled Torvald's mouth as Two's fist connected with his face again and again. The punches stopped as Two's hands found their way around Torvald's neck.

"You know what the best part about killing you is?" Two asked, licking his lips and staring right into Torvald's eyes. "It'll be like an instant replay when I get my hands on your sister."

Torvald let out a choked scream, his veins burning with hatred and rage. He swung out with his left hand, connecting with Two's temple. He managed to roll Two off of him, jumping up and grabbing a large sharp piece of the shattered table, holding it like a knife. He swung out with it, slicing Two's cheek and drawing a small dribble of blood.

Two's eyes were wild and crazy, his breathing heavy and ragged as he wiped the blood from his cheek and kicked Torvald in the abdomen. Torvald double in pain, dropping the stake he was holding.

Two's scream was dripping with bloodlust as he grabbed a small, heavy stone bust sitting on a wall shelf.

Torvald looked up towards the last sight he would ever see. This frightening demon in the shape of a boy, holding a large stone in his hand. He suddenly regretted breaking his promise to his sister. He regretted not being there to protect her, to comfort her. He had let her down, let his family down.

He had failed.

The bust came down with the force of a bullet, breaking through the skin and crushing his skull with a sharp crack and a sickening squelch.

Torvald's world went black instantly.


	4. The Wilting Flower

**The Wilting Flower**

Belle was in full panic mode. Her body was aching, her head pounding as she fumbled her way through the wild crowd of tributes.

She gasped as another cannon shot fired loudly.

Startled by the noise, she lost track of where she was running and stumbled over something on the ground. Pulling herself up slowly, she realized what she had fallen over: the remains of the girl from Thirteen's body.

Belle retched, shaking wildly as she attempted to pull herself away from the charred stump of a body. Looking around for any sign of assistance, she noticed that only a few feet away from her, another girl was kneeling in a ball, weeping.

It was the girl from Seven. There was another boy who had looked just like her; Belle had seen him run into the Cornucopia building. She deduced that they were twins, and concluded that perhaps that cannon shot had been for this girl's brother.

For a moment, she contemplated comforting the girl. _Don't be an idiot. You're here to either kill everyone else, or die yourself._

She clutched at her stomach, the pain emanating from her insides nearly blinding her. Being killed or dying on her own seemed more likely than any alternative at this point. She had thought it some kind of cruel joke when she had been Reaped in District Eleven. For sixteen years now she had suffered from some kind of debilitating, chronic disease that caused her intense abdominal pain.

No one back home had known what it was. The diet of Eleven made it all the worse; eating any sort of grains or bread, her pain only increased exponentially. Her family never had the money to pay for real medicine or a real doctor, so she had learned to deal with it, eating very little and only then, fruit. Her slightest reprieve was a healer who lived next door who had found an herbal relief to her pain.

But now there was no one to help her. She hadn't eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours because she was afraid of eating something that would send her into fits. It turned out that a combination of starving herself and increasing stress only made her symptoms worse.

Writhing on the floor, she let out a low moan. She stiffened when a strong hand gripped her forearm. Frozen with fear, she didn't make a noise or put up a struggle. She wanted this to be quick and painless.

As she waited for the final blow with bated breath and eyes screwed shut, she felt the hand roll her over.

"Are you okay?" came a deep voice.

Belle opened her eyes tentatively, looking up into the strong, tanned features of a handsome young man.

"Are you okay?" he repeated with more urgency. She noted that he was holding a large, jagged piece of rock in his other hand.

She nodded, clutching at her stomach.

"Okay, good. Just stay here, you hear me? You're going to be okay."

He stood up and ran over to the crying girl from Seven, attempting to comfort her.

Belle tried to sit up, the pain in her abdomen limiting her ability to move. She noticed the girl from Twelve run past her holding a medium length of heavy black pipe.

"Finn! It's now or never!" she yelled at the handsome boy. With a name and face like that, Belle placed his district as Four.

"Try and gather as many as you can before we lose them!" he yelled back, laying Seven down gently as she sobbed violently.

Twelve stepped up onto the lip of the fountain, tributes still scrambling to get their bearings in the Cornucopia area.

"Listen to me, everyone!" she yelled as loudly as she could. Most of the tributes stopped for a moment, surprised by her bravado. Belle noticed one girl with long brown hair had already escaped, running as fast as she could towards a cluster of trees.

"Please," yelled Twelve. "Gather round the fountain and just listen to me for a minute!"

Most of the tributes obeyed, warily making their way closer to the fountain. A few stayed back, trying to keep themselves equidistant from the ominous darkness of the Cornucopia and this strange girl on the fountain.

"Before this competition began, some of us had the opportunity to get together and assess our predicament."

Doing a quick headcount, Belle could see that besides the three tributes who had run to the Cornucopia, there were two missing from the group.

"The rules this year are unlike those of any other. We have only ourselves to rely on, and the dangers are unknown to everyone associated with the Games. Even the Gamemakers."

"Get to the point already," a tall, well toned boy said roughly.

"My point is that the only thing we have to fear in this arena is each other. My name is Diana, and you have nothing to fear from me. Myself, Finn, and Livia gathered last night and discussed our situation."

"Livia? She's a career from Two, how can you trust her?" screamed a fidgety looking girl in the pack of tributes. Shouts of assent came from various tributes.

Belle didn't hear Diana's response, as her body went into a rough spasm. She could feel her heart racing faster, the sour bile rising in her throat. It was only thirty seconds until she regained control of herself, but it seemed like an hour.

Diana hopped off of the fountain. "The three of us gathered last night, and we came to the conclusion that perhaps we could have more than one victor this year. We had hoped we could have twenty-six. Obviously, that isn't possible anymore." She stared sadly toward the Cornucopia, then to the hole in the ground that had been Thirteen's pod.

The other tributes perked up, suddenly interested in what she had to say. Who wouldn't jump at the chance of survival? Belle herself was interested in what Diana's solution was, even as she struggled to stay conscious against the flow of pain from her midsection.

"While we recieved no help in this competition, the rules also prevent the Capitol from putting danger in our paths. They have left this place, wherever it is, untouched. No pods, no traps, no nothing. Which means the can't hurt us."

There was silence as reason set in and the tributes began to ponder her words.

"Once again- we are the only danger in this place. We only need to band together and survive. Find a way to live in this place. If we can manage that for only a few weeks, there's a good chance the Capitol will get bored, and the Games will be canceled. We will be freed."

"But then the Capitol will just kill us for being insubordinate!" It was the fidgety girl again.

"There is always a chance of that, Games or not. But we have no weapons, no food, no idea where we are. I speculate that if there isn't any bloodshed for an extended period of time, then perhaps they might... cancel the Quell. They weren't expecting this either. We can play off of their insecurity!"

Belle was starting to understand the logic behind Diana's idea. It made sense, if in a very far fetched way. Could they really all make it out of this alive?

She let out a small scream as another spasm nearly folded her in half.

"There might be Hell to pay next year, or maybe even in a few months if they decide to move onto the next Quell Card. But tradition and the idea of the Games is what is most important to the people of the Capitol. They can't kill us for their failure as Gamemakers. We can all survive this- if we work together. We only have to figure out have to keep each other alive."

"Or we could survive this if we do exactly what the Gamemakers want us to do," came a cold, low voice from the doorway of the Cornucopia.

All of the tributes spun around wildly, looking for the source of the voice.

Belle looked up through bleary eyes. Standing in the doorway of the Cornucopia was a tall, dark haired boy. His skin was pale, his frame rather slight, but he still seemed very muscular and agile. His eyes were an ice cold blue, his gaze piercing each of the gathered tributes, as though he were some sort of machine, analyzing each of them as a threat.

"Don't be an idiot, Odin," Diana said, her voice heavy with malice. "If we do what the Gamemakers want, not a single one of us will survive. We'll kill each other off."

Odin acted as though he hadn't heard her. "Livia, it's a crying shame that you chose to ally yourself with these children. Our district has a tradition of victory and it saddens me to think you won't be a part of it."

Livia, who looked rather like Odin, with the tall, thin frame and dark hair, stared straight back at him, not saying a word or breaking her gaze.

"Here's the deal: you can listen to a peasant from Twelve wail from her soapbox there, or you can listen to what I have to say."

A few of the tributes stared anxiously back towards Diana, but most kept their gazes locked on Odin.

"Peace is never an option when it comes to the Games. What the people want is blood. Now, I know my limitations. I know I wouldn't be able to kill all of you right now with my bare hands, much less when two of you have weapons."

Belle looked to the pipe in Diana's hand. She must have torn it from the ground where the landmines had destroyed Thirteen's pod.

"But I'm going to give a few of you the chance to help me out. In regular years, there's always a pack of Career tributes. The strongest of the group. We work together to hunt down the weaker tributes, and when we're the only ones left... well, what happens, happens. But since this year is different, I'm willing to make an exception. I will accept a willing few to join me in the hunt for the weaker tributes. And maybe, just maybe, the Gamemakers will pity their champions and allow more than one winner."

Someone piped up from the group, "How do we know you won't kill us after we help you?"

Odin smiled cruelly, his straight white teeth gleaming. The sight of it made Bella cringe. It was as if this was the first time Odin had ever smiled in his life, or as if the only other time you would see him smile was right before he cut your throat.

"Would I lie to you?" he asked mockingly.

Something told Bella that getting the truth from Odin was about as rare as one of his smiles.

The crowd of tributes in the fountain square looked around anxiously, some gazing to their district partners for affirmation, for anything.

"I'm with Diana," said a younger boy with nearly white hair. Belle recognized him as the boy from Thirteen.

A breathtakingly beautiful girl with dark black hair and tanned skin sauntered up towards where Odin stood. "You're an idiot Finn. You're an idiot if you think you can survive this by playing nursery with these children. I'm almost sorry it had to come to this."

Belle watched as the crowd of tributes slowly dispersed, some to Odin and some to Diana. She felt a sudden sorrow pierce her chest as she saw the number of tributes who would rather sate Panem's bloodlust than attempt to save everyone.

Her breathing was becoming shallow. Finn walked past her, the girl from Seven on his shoulder. He set her down next to Diana and her group, then turned around and walked back towards her.

She chuckled. When he walked towards her, she could see his hair gleam in the light as though he were some kind of beautiful vision. Looking into his green eyes, it was as if she could smell a lake. She could hear the crystal waves flowing and ebbing against the shore.

He knelt down next to her. "You're going to be okay. You're coming with us. We'll take care of you."

She tried to tell him what was happening to her, but she couldn't. She only managed to sputter the words, "Too late."

As Finn hoisted her up, her body gave way to a powerful tremor. Her limbs flailed uncontrollably as the pain racked her body.

Finn, surprised by her sudden violent movement, lost his grip on her.

Belle hit the stone floor hard. She felt a warmth spread through her head where her skull had hit the ground. Her stomach felt like the tightest knot imaginable.

As her vision began to fade, she felt her insides begin to loosen. The pain began to recede. Her struggle was over.

She listened to her last heartbeat echo in her inner ear.

Her eyes flicked around wildly, her chest getting tighter. She could feel nothing, but still hear and see everything.

Belle heard her own cannon boom, and then... nothing.


End file.
